Crystal of Kharma
by JetherWing
Summary: 100 years later, two new Perfect Dreamers appear, along with the strange resurrection of Reala. The sad, true tale of the Red Ideyas is about to begin. Ch.3 reloaded bc of glitch
1. Phase One: Hopeless Desire

            General Disclaimer: Loben is © 2003 by me, JetherWing, and cannot be used without permission.  The characters Reala, NiGHTS, and all other related characters are registered trademarks of SEGA of America, Inc.

            Author's Note: Let it be known that I am not following the plotline of the NiGHTS into Dreams comic religiously, as I wrote that Reala is back in the dreaming world with no explanation as to how he got back from the last comic (for those of you who don't know, I think he dissipated or something—I am not sure).  But you never know—I might write an explanation as to how I think Reala got back into the dreaming world—it all depends on how far this story gets and what you, the readers, make of this story.  I would GREATLY appreciate reviews of this story, so I can see where I can take it.  

            Thank you all so much and I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it!!  ^ _ ^ 

Introduction: Part 1       

            If only he knew that he would end up back where he started.  

            For now, though, he is somewhere new.  There are dead brown hedges, too tall for anyone to see over.  These are not crumbling to ashes--they are strong as if alive.  Studded all around them are thorns, as thick as nails and even sturdier than the hedges themselves.  There is no moss covering the crumbling stone statues in the waterless fountains.  There are animal carcasses strewn on the floor, the flesh long gone and the bones unidentifiable.  Over head, the sky is a toneless gray, but rain will never fall.  It is neither too hot nor too cold; the weather is motionless, like a still cup of water left to gather murk and dust.  

            But he didn't know that he would end up back where he started.  For now he just runs, this young man—a scrawny, long legged boy running in the hedge maze: some would say he looks easy to break.  He pants heavily, and his hair is matted with sweat, the brown bangs now black and glued to his sticky forehead.  His clothes are torn, and he is bleeding from somewhere, though he feels no pain.  He is afraid, but there is nothing wrong with that—he is not panicking yet.  But he is exhausted.  

            He is running from something.  He keeps looking over his shoulder, and that costs him some balanced footfalls.  He thinks he will never stop, as his pursuer is relentless.  The hedges are also unfavorable, as they scratch against his cheeks, scratch against his collarbone, scratch against his hands.  They leave red swollen trails.  

            There is a strange howling in the distance, something deep and rhythmic.  He lies to himself that it is the wind.  It comes back and this time he can't ignore it.  He can hear the whisper of his own name in it.      

            "_Loben__…_"

            He slips in black sludge and lands on his side.  He feels impact that knocks his breath away in a hiccup.  Trying not to get the black waste in his mouth, Loben claws at the ground desperately.  He digs his hands in the mess for some kind of solid ground but only sinks up to his arms and thighs.     

             "…_My dream host…_"

            Loben finally skids free out of the oily mess, loses a shoe in it, gets the rest of his clothes snagged and torn.  He feels a jerk on his back, something that grips and won't let go.   

            "…_Forever dreaming…_"        

            _NO!!!_

            He pushes forward and feels a squeezing on both his arms, hears a sharp ripping, feels the remainders of his jacket flutter off him.  There is a gash on his right eyebrow now, the blood leaking and blinding that eye.           

            And following slowly but steadily is Loben's pursuer, a gangly predator with blue ice chips in its irises.  A good portion of Loben's coat now dangles on one of the dead branches of the hedges.  His pursuer catches sight of that coat and stops briefly, eyeing it with earnest interest.  It reaches for the coat with a hand that is undaunted by the sharp thorns on the branch, a hand that looks like a human hand but has inhumanly yellow skin on the fingers and black skin on the rest of the hand...those hands somehow remind Loben of hornets and yellow jackets.  It rubs the material of the coat between its fingers, sniffing slowly, taking in the scent.  Loben's blood accumulates in its nails and turns the tips a dark brown.  When it looks up and over the scene, it smiles—a soft, reserved smile that is almost paternal.  It will stay where it is.        

            But Loben keeps running.  His arms are held out in front of him like a futile shield, slapping away the dead hedges and the soft masses of dust.  He keeps running even though he feels a painful pulling in his leg muscles, he keeps running even though he has lost his sense of direction.  He barely notices the stinging itch as more blood leaks into his right eye, he is oblivious to the sticky cobwebs plastered to his head like a bonnet—he doesn't care about the choking sounds that emit from his mouth like vomit.  He only thinks about mustering enough energy to burst through the wall of cobwebs and thorns, hoping that he will not slam his breaking body into a stone wall.  Loben turns his aching head to the side, lowers it, emits a screaming plead, and charges the wall.  The wall breaks with little effort, making a loud tear that he thinks is the rest of his shirt being stripped away.  

            Loben stumbles forward and he finally notices the unusually cold temperature of the floor on his shoeless foot.  His legs go in exaggerated steps to keep from falling over.  He finally comes to a stop and lets his hands grasp his knees, trying to catch his breath but only coughing.  He wipes away the blood from his eye, and then wipes the rest of his face with his shirt that didn't tear off after all.  With both of his eyes able to see, he wonders if there are anymore cobwebs in his face—it's so dark.  Wet strands of hair brush back and forth against his forehead.  

            _There was no wind in the hedge maze. _

            He loses the strength in his arms, and he sinks to the cold floor.  He knows this place.  

            _The sky in the hedge maze was gray._

            There is nothing in his eyes anymore but the place is too dark to see more than a few inches in front of him.

            _I'm back._

            The floor is not soft mud or rough stone but shiny marble, black marble with dusty bits of silver in uneven clumps like galaxies.  Loben clenches his fists, trying to claw at the hard floor.    __

            _I'm back where I started…BACK WHERE I STARTED!!!!_

            The whole place is so cold now, and he shivers.  He is not sure whether the dust clouds are moving and changing or his vision is blurring.  

            _I didn't know—_

            Before he can finish that thought he screams again, a scream of agony that causes a painful buzzing in his temples, a scream of frustration that makes him sound like a child, a scream of anger that echoes in the dark room and registers in the ears of his predator.  

            "_REEEEEAALAAAAA----!!!_"

            And in this darkness—trying to contain the delight of gloating at the trap it set and the sadistic satisfaction of hearing the boy's suffering—Reala answers him.            

            "Hello Loben…I'm right here…"

_End of Introduction: Part 1_

                
                                   


	2. Phase Two: Possesion

General Disclaimer:  The story and Loben are © 2003 by me, JetherWing, and cannot be used without permission.  The characters Reala, NiGHTS, and all other related characters are registered trademarks of SEGA of America, Inc.

Author's Note: Okay, okay, I know that this is shorter or just as short as the first one and that this probably should have been included with the first part in the first place (wow that's a lot of "first's")…to be honest, I write until the movement of the story is finished.  But more will be written, that is for sure.  Thank you everyone for the reviews!!  They made my day.  Anyways, on with the story, hey?  By the by, _this section is rated R_ for violence and some language.  Enjoy!!   

Introduction: Part 2

            Loben can feel Reala's eyes on him, but he cannot see them—Loben is grateful for _that_.  

            He hears Reala's quiet laugh softly brush his ear.  "Right…here."  

            Loben bolts upright with his eyes squeezed shut. Surprise registers in his brain when nothing is behind him.  He can still feel Reala's eyes on him, a cold blue—or are they green?  Loben could never tell for sure.  In this state of vulnerability he wishes that he had something to fight with—a stick, a pocket knife, a stone—_anything_!!  Why—

            The laughter stops abruptly and then all of a sudden Reala is behind him.  His arm is around Loben's neck in a choke hold.  Loben can see the lurid reality of those arms—purplish blue skin, coating the well-developed muscles of a well-trained hunter.  There is an additional arm guard on the forearm, a black and red _glove-like_ appendage with a small shield guarding the top of Reala's invisible wrists.     

            It all registers too slowly in Loben's tired brain for him to react.  His body is too awkward for him at times, too foreign to him that it scares him.  He grips Reala's unyielding arm.  His legs kick out in front of him but his feet hit no ground.  He is only a few inches off the floor now, but Reala holds him up tight and prevents him from slipping out of his grasp.  Reala leans his head next to Loben's temple.

            "Now—to business.  I'm going to give you a chance to stop fooling around and save yourself from additional grief." 

            Loben finds Reala's voice so strangely calm that is only scares him.  He can feel the hot air of breath by his ear as Reala talks.  

            "Now Loben—where is the other dreamer?  Please tell me..." Loben feels the choke hold tighten.  "I can only be patient for so long."

            Loben's voice is strained.  "Don't do this!!  You can't have the other dreamer!!"  He tries to burst forward but is only jerked back.

            "Of course I'll find the other dreamer, Loben," Reala continues as if nothing happened.  "It's your rightful place...That's the way it's been; that's the way it will be."  

            "No…no…you don't need the other dreamer—you can take me if you want, but you can't—you don't need two dreamers!"  That last remark makes Loben feel lightheaded.  Some brief realization passes him, one that is too quick to recall.  He stops struggling and asks softly.  "Whuh…what would you want with two dreamers anyway?"           

            Reala's breath catches suddenly, and he leans his head away from Loben.  "My dear boy…you don't need to worry about that."  Reala hesitates, as if caught a little off guard, and then snickers quietly.  The snickering snaps Loben out of his serenity because to him it sounded like it could be a male or a female laugh. 

            "All you need to know, Loben, is that no great undertaking was ever accomplished without, well, sacrifice.  But—if the sacrifice has to be from others, then so much the better right?"  Reala snickers with that androgynous voice again, making Loben want to strangle him.

            "Go to hell, Reala."  He sees his other hand in Reala's black padded claws and a chill of disgust goes up his spine.  

            "I never understood the need for wrists," Reala tells Loben in a voice of fake interest.   

            Loben's brain forms a thought that is too fast for him to acknowledge: _It's not my fault!  This isn't—_      

            Reala interjects: "So _worth_less!"

            There is a funny twist in Loben's joint—he never knew his wrist could bend like that.  The jerk of the twist feels light and heavy at the same time, cold and tingly, but then there is a searing grip as his wrist is turned at an absurd angle, is bent back too far.  He doesn't hear the crack of his own wrist snapping as he howls in pain, doesn't see the jagged bone stab out of his skin, doesn't see the blood spurting out with each frantic jolt of his heart, doesn't hear Reala's cruel snickering.  

            Loben feels the ground come to his feet again, feels the hold around him release, but he doubles over like he is about to throw up, his good hand gripping his useless, torn wrist, his mind begging his body not to faint from blood loss.  He gropes uselessly in the dark for some kind of support, finds none, uses his good hand to lift himself up.  Instinctively he elevates his arm, clutching it and trying to ignore the throbs of the splintered bone and torn skin of his broken wrist.  The hand is limp and already has swollen, purple skin.  He gulps, finds his voice.

            "Reala," he tries to say with authority, but it comes out in a squeaky, pathetic whisper.            

            A grayish-blue painted face, with no definition of a nose or cheek bones, appears before him—despite the darkness he can see this face all too clearly.  Black and red striped tassels adorn Reala's head, though Loben can only assume that they are tassels—they look like goddamned horns growing backwards out of the head.  There is a smile on Reala's face, a smile that looks like it was painted on with black oil, just like the black vertical slits that are on Reala's eyelids.  Reala's eyes are bluish green now, and they almost look human—_almost_.  

            "Reala—!"  Loben repeats.  "Kill me—and you're damned."    

            He sees Reala frown for the first time.  Reala closes his eyes and turns his head to the side, waves his hand dismissively at Loben.  "I can't stop now, Loben…you're just the beginning."

            A dizziness makes Loben's knees wobble, makes him plead, "Please…not both of us…''  

            Reala scorns at loben, "Tell me, Loben.  Is the other dreamer so bent on avoiding the inevitable as you are?  It's really quite unbecoming."     

            Loben does not answer, lowers his head with his eyes closed, shakes his head.

            "If I found you this fast, then the other dreamer doesn't have a chance.  You can't hide forever, right?  Still, it would have been better if I could have both of you at the same time.  But that doesn't matter anyway, Loben."  The smile begins to form again, the yellow jacket fingers curl.  "I'll take care of you, now—I'll take care of both of you."

            When Loben looks up again Reala's face and arms are even closer than they were before, the eyes glowing intensely green in a second like a whip crack, the black paint of his grin like a mal-shaped funeral wreath around pink gums and stunningly white teeth.  There is a suffocating pressure in Loben's sternum and his throat, the pressure in the sternum caves in on his lungs but the pressure in his throat lifts.  Loben thinks that he is supposed to lose consciousness from blood loss now, and that when you faint you go deaf—but like a cruel joke all of Loben's senses come alive.

            A sound like a soft cracking egg erupts, and the hot pressure from his throat overflows.  There is a warm wetness going down Loben's neck, a coppery taste vomiting from his mouth, a foul metallic smell.  

            Loben can feel an alien movement in his chest cavity, an internal squeezing and pulling apart.  There is a splatter of red on Reala's still grinning face.  Loben can even see his own blood on Reala's tassels—there is too much of it.

            Loben's legs tremble weakly under him, he leaves wet smears of brown reddish on Reala's unrelenting arms as he gropes pointlessly at them.  Then Reala's arms go out of reach and Loben feels himself floating down on his back.  He thinks that his neck and chest are no longer there—all he feels is an emptiness.  

            The last thing Loben sees is Reala holding a dark, wet mass in his hand, and it is something that Loben sees throbbing and knows it should be his heart—but the red mass is _glowing_ now, glowing red—

            —and then fading away into nothing, like Reala's eyes fading back to blue.


	3. The Dead Dream Circus

8-21-03, updated 3-13-04, 8-14-04

General Disclaimer: Nights, Reala, Jackle, and the Nightopians are registered trademarks of SEGA of America, Inc. and used without permission. The story, Loben, Lilith, and Dozer are © 2004 JetherWing.

Author's Note: After long last, here is part three, as I promised. This section is rated R for language and violence, and just plain dark stuff. FYI: I had to reload this chapter because for some reason the second part of this chapter was cut out when it loaded. Sorry for the confusion.

The circus would only last for a day, it said. There would be a fireworks show at the very end—"Topping Off at the Big Top," the flyer said. What could be better?

She couldn't remember the last time that she was at a circus—if ever. Circuses were supposed to fill people with wonder. But she already felt something like that—a kind of limbo between waking and dreaming. She sometimes had the feeling that she was floating, not really touching the ground. There was an eerie calmness over her that made her want to stare off into nothing and then fall asleep. It gave her a false sense of safety. She couldn't find anything better to do with this feeling besides sitting and staring, and what better place to sit and stare than at a circus?

So she gathered her things and headed over there, headed over there like the other hundreds of people gathering like cattle at a waterhole. She sang a song, the voice so soft and slow that it lost all its musical tone. "In the dark—and the ash…that wasn't…there."

The circus tents looked like they once might have had dazzling colors like red, yellow, orange, green, blue, and purple, but now they were faded and stained with black mud. There were other funny tents, too…some made out of tan, transparent material. The material had black uneven stitches etched along it, and there was a dark pink outline on all of the edges. No one knew exactly what kind of skin it was, but no one really cared.

Among the rides, there was a most unusual carousel, one where the horses were nothing but bones with ragged skin hanging off. The saddles were black leather, constricting and cracking the bare ribs of the horse skeletons. Yet children and adult dreamers rode on them, rode on the rusty carousel that squeaked terribly and had sparks emit from underneath it every once in while. Some rode on it for a few seconds in mindless bliss before their eyes widened in horror, their breaths came out in raspy chokes, and then some would vanish from the Dreamworld, awakened from their fear. Some rode onward in a catatonic state, others smiled darkly.

There were strange people all around the carnival. There were people falling over laughing, people crying, people shouting. There was a fat man stirring some kind of pink slurry in a big steaming pot. The man wore a dirty apron, stained red and black. He pulled out the spoon occasionally, the meat clinging to it like some chunky bubble gum. The smell of the minced raw meat made the people's eyes water, but they lined up nonetheless to receive this raw flesh, sticky flesh wrapped around wooden sticks like cotton candy.

Nights watched with fascination—humans had the most surreal dreams sometimes. And as of now, Nights couldn't tell the difference between the dreamers and the other dream creatures.

"Hello, dear sir!"

That was the voice of a clown, a clown with a green wig and white painted face, a clown with dark red lips and a purple shiny suit. Nights had to look down because this clown was only three feet. He had a glass eye, too—one that stopped Nights' friendly reply. The black iris of the glass eye stayed in its place while the real eye rolled upwards to greet him. He kind of looked like a Nightopian.

Nights did not flinch at the sight, but now he did not blame human children for being scared of clowns. "I heard somewhere that wearing green at a circus is bad luck," Nights could only murmur in reply.

The clown only smiled back and handed him a lily. "For you, dear sir. Do you know why they call it a carnival?"

Nights shook his head quickly, shuddering at the thought that if the clown was any taller he would try to place the lily on his head. Nights knew that the clown was not a Nightopian. Nightopians weren't unsettling.

"The whole point of a carnival was to celebrate the last day that people could eat meat," the clown explained, fingering the white carnation on his suit. "Guess it's okay to go all out then, eh?" He gestured over to the man selling steamed flesh.

Nights couldn't tell anymore whether or not he had walked into the middle of a living nightmare or a dark fantasy.

The midget clown laughed too, something that sounded like an out of place music note. "I would go to the Big Top right now…our ringleader has a big surprise planned out." This time the glass eye rolled upwards and flashed in the light. "A fellow Nightmaren such as yourself wouldn't want to miss out on the fun…would you?"

Nights gulped and then headed onward towards the tent. He struggled to ignore the rest of the sights.

The ringleader had to be human. It was the only way that Nights could excuse the ringleader's appearance. The ringleader wore a tacky tuxedo of the primary colors—a red vest, a yellow blouse, with pants that were red, orange, and yellow striped. The tails of the silver coat had the same three colors embroidered on the ends, only they were in the shapes of flames.

The ringleader announced in a sing song voice, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome one and welcome all! The Dead Dream Circus couldn't be happier to have such a wonderful, lively audience!" There was a roar of applause, making Nights jump. He immediately regretted sitting with the audience.

The ringleader wore goggles with reflective silver lens. They fastened on the back of the ringleader's head so tightly that Nights could see lumps of hair and flesh bulging out between the rubber straps. There was no way to see the ringleader's eyes.

"Of all the wonderful, lively sights in our circus, you, dear sirs and madams, have chosen the main event of our Big Top! Well…you are all about to find out what the word carnival really means then, eh?" The ringleader laughed aside, and Nights heard some members of the audience laugh along with him.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen…with-OUT further delay, we present to you…the offering…to the spirit of the Dead Circus." He slowly turned his eyes to the audience, the grin faded into something of reflective apprehension. Goosebumps sprouted on the back of Night's neck as he saw the ringleader hesitate again, lick his lips, grip the black shiny cane. Then the ringleader's eyes snapped back to the audience, and he smiled so wide that it looked as if the corners of the mouth would tear. "Bring forth the volunteer!!" The ringleader removed his top hat with a swift gesture, revealing his hair, hair so blonde that it was almost a sickly, transparent white.

And then there was a huge clear tank on the left, and then a tall rectangular box draped in black cloth on the right.

The ringleader's white teeth—they were too white and too big and too disproportionate. This ringleader had to be human—or at least a dream creation brought on by the inner darkness of a dreamer's subconscious. Nights was beginning to appreciate the Nightopians' dream duties.

The tank had some kind of fish, about the size of a small car, with jagged teeth and smooth puckered skin in place of its eye sockets. It was the same clear pigment as the hair on the ringleader's scalp.

The cloth was lifted from the box on the right—and there was a Nightopian, bound and gagged, struggling against its restraints.

"Don't worry, folks! This lovely volunteer is about to be seated comfortably…right here…oooh…" The Ringleader pointed with his cane at a thin wooden platform suspended right above the fish tank. It had appeared out of nowhere. He turned to the audience.

"While we're getting him ready, another volunteer will be picked from the audience. That lucky person gets to throw the ball at the target. If you hit the bullseye, then down goes our little friend! But don't worry folks…it's all part of the show! Why…he'll be just _super_!"

Nights leaned forward, but eager members of the audience blocked his view as they stood from their seats and raised their hands to be chosen. Their crowding and greediness for the glory of the Dead Dream Circus spotlight made him uneasy.

He heard a small voice straining from the center.

"This isn't real! This isn't real!"

Nights stood up and pushed a few spectators away. He began to shove his way through, trying not to trip down the stairs as he headed towards the center stage. He watched the bound Nightopian get closer to him. The gag on the Nightopian had been removed somehow.

"You all need to wake up!!" the Nightopian continued, pleading with the audience. "This—IS A TRAP!!! LISTEN!!"

There was a low murmur from the audience, and a few shifted uneasily. The ringleader, shaking his head, only laughed and said, "Why, ladies and gentlemen, is our little actor's skill so good that it would actually fool you? Relax! This is all part of the show, people!" He threw the Nightopian a warning gaze that only made it squirm more desperately. "The Dead Dream Circus promised a big event! We will thrill, chill, and even horrify—but we won't disappoint!"

Nights finally got close to the Nightopian, but he noticed that the audience had hushed. Nights realized that he was at the bottom, and had walked right into the spotlight. The ringleader's voice shattered the silence and made Nights jump.

"Oh…dear me, dear me…I'm sorry, son. Looks like we already found our lucky volunteer. But maybe next time, right?" The ringleader winked at him. Nights saw a small portly child in front of the tank, dizzy on the dream of being the center of attention. He gripped a black shiny eight ball in his hand. The ringleader did not say a word, and when Nights made eye contact with him a second time there was a strange sense of familiarity. This was all the time that the volunteer needed to throw the eight ball at the target.

When the ringleader heard the sound of the target being hit on the bulls-eye, he turned to the tank to watch the Nightopian plunge down into the water, smiling so wide that the skin of his mouth did crack open. But he only saw a purple blur and a splash as the giant monster fish thrust its head out of the water to gnash its teeth at the purple streak. Gray water splashed out of the tank, the eight ball rolled smoothly along the floor.

Nights flew upwards with the bound Nightopian, trying to undo the restraints.

"The audience is getting restless! THE SHOW MUST GO ON!!! Kyyahh-HA HA HA!!!"

Nights heard this shriek piercing above the other noises of the tent, followed by a loud crack as the ringleader bashed his cane against the glass tank in one swift, powerful stroke. There was a groan of the weight of the water as it strained against the widening crack of the glass. Nights also noticed that the monster fish was also choking, straining against something, an inward tremor. It emitted a strange high pitched squeal that made Nights wince and clench his eyes shut. And then both the fish and the tank shattered together, the gray water turning a strange brown tint from the severed entrails of the fish. The explosion of glass and water sent the audience into a panic. They began to stampede and scream as they struggled to make their way out of the big top tent. Nights quickly undid the knots of the ropes and freed the Nightopian. He was about to head downward when he felt the Nightopian grip his shoulder.

"What kind of nightmare is this?!" it questioned Nights. "There—there's something not right about this, they—''

But the Nightopian was cut off when it darted its eyes to the bottom and stared in horror. Nights slowly cast his eyes downward, feeling the presence of the ringleader.

The ringleader had been glaring at them hatefully, the big grin turned downwards, dark liquid trailing from both corners of the mouth. Nights took the Nightopian by the hand, headed downwards slowly to face the ringleader.

Nights saw the ringleader wink again, and then the skin on the ringleader's face began to stretch and contort. Nights watched, appalled, as the skin underneath the goggles stretched to reveal horizontal slits, the nostrils of the thin sharp nose expanding to a deformed pig look. The scalp split open in two, and withered downwards onto the floor. A pair of pointed tassels, looking almost like dog ears, emerged from the torn skin of the ringleader. Blue eyes and a smile that was nothing but triangular teeth greeted the stunned pair.

"EEEWWWUH—man!! That skin was stuffy…but a cozy shell, eh—HA!!" Jackle laughed, and his wet cape unfolded like wings from a cocoon. It sagged from the pinkish slime coating it. "What can I say, ladies and gentlemen…I'm a sucker for pranks!" He laughed at Nights, and then pointed at the furious Nightopian. "YOU were supposed to be dead by now! Ooooh—YOU!—you ruined the whole show!" He shook his finger at them in mock chastisement.

The sound of the clapping echoed loudly in the now empty circus tent. They all turned and faced the empty audience chairs, seeing only a lone figure. It was the same height as Nights, with the same long tassels that reached past the hips, and it levitated in the same manner as Nights.

Nights' heart skipped a beat…he thought he smelled something rotten, thought he saw something red on the clothes of the figure.

The Nightopian was gripping its head with its two little flesh colored hands. "But that's impossible—he's dead—it's in the Records! He's gone!" It hid behind Nights, peeped out from over his shoulder. "You—you killed him yourself!"

"Now don't be dramatic…silly little Nightopian," a metallic voice came from the dark figure, and a spotlight bathed it in its eerie glow. "Nights is not capable of murder. That is a special experience only reserved for the most—advanced." When Reala said the word "advanced," a small shudder of delight went down his body, a secret light twinkled in his eyes that confused Nights.

Jackle smiled genuinely for the first time. "Puh-Prince Reala!!" he burst out. "I knew it! Knew Prince Reala would come back!" Jackle bowed low in Reala's direction, then went by his side.

"Well I must say, Jackle, I'm impressed," Reala replied, patting Jackle's head. "However, while an opportunity to paint the walls with my arch rival's entrails isn't exactly what I want _just now_…I suppose it will have to do," Reala reasoned, a hand on his chin, smiling. Jackle nodded vigorously, the tassels jerking up and down.

The Nightopian quivered behind Nights' back, then zig-zagged out from behind him in a mad panic to reach the flapping entrance of the circus tent. Nights almost followed but he heard Reala clucking his tongue at him. "You shouldn't come between the Jackle and his prey," Reala chided Nights. He flew in front of Nights, his arms folded, a smirk on his face. Nights noticed the darkness that he had not seen before, and took a step back.

"So you couldn't go anywhere else, Reala…" Nights murmured. "Is that why you came back here?"

Jackle's eyes glinted as he streaked after the fleeing Nightopian. He caught the Nightopian by the wing, watching it wiggle and plead in his invisible grip.

"Wasn't exactly the turn of events that I had in mind, either, Nights, but here I am regardless!" Reala put up both hands, shrugging in fake innocence.

"Aw…Nightopians are so round and fat—they look like balloons to me!" Jackle snickered as the Nightopian struggled in his grip.

"It's really funny how humans have such…thick fear," Reala told Nights, though his eyes seemed distant. "…Even in their dreams." With a flick of his invisible wrist a wine glass appeared in his hand out of nowhere. In the glass, filled almost to the top, was thick red liquid. Nights watched with a nauseating realization as Reala swirled the liquid casually. "Blood stays fresh longer in the dream world, incidentally," Reala said, staring at the glass thoughtfully. "That other dreamer is entitled to this."

With a quick gesture, Jackle pulled out a pin, about a foot long and as thick as a pencil. "Hey…let's see if they burst like balloons too! Mwee-hee-hee-hee—"

And then Jackle's laugh turned into a shriek that made Reala turn in his direction with a hiss. When he saw what Jackle saw, his face changed to sheer surprise. He crushed the wine glass in his fist, the glass making a strange popping sound and the dark red beverage running over.

"Speaking of which…" he muttered, and went over to Jackle, as if mesmerized. The Nightopian felt Jackle's grip loosen and it tore away, going to Nights' aid.

Jackle stared at the center row of the circus tent, where a spotlight now shined on a human girl. She looked about the age of an older teenager, though there was something unsettling about her demeanor, at first glance, that made her look like she was much older—an elderly woman wearing the skin of a young girl.

Her hair was ash blonde, and the crown of her head gleamed gold just where the spotlight shone. It was just above her shoulders and sleeked back with a plain black headband. She had a stiff black turtleneck with sleeves that had to be folded back just above her wrists, though the turtleneck was form fitting nonetheless. She had a short red and black plaid skirt, gray tights, and black mary-jane shoes.

But the skin of the girl was so pale that it was almost a grayish white, with grayish lavender eyes to match. Despite the dark colors and gloomy demeanor, the girl was smiling—her pale lips turned upwards like an upside down umbrella.

There was nothing unsettling about her appearance in itself—it was what she had brought with her.

Raised in front of her, held out snugly in one arm, was a shiny red jack-in-the-box, a golden star painted on both sides. She had the hand of her other free arm placed on the polished wooden handle on the side.

Nights watched Reala and Jackle as they watched the girl, Jackle's face stretched vertically in fear, Reala's face contorted in a grin of amazement and cold satisfaction.

The girl gave a sideways glance at Nights. She tilted her head, and smiled differently, her eyes almost friendly. Nights could see dark circles around her eyes. When she turned back to face Reala, the coldness returned to her face, making her eyes look more grayish than anything.

Reala made a move as if to lunge at her, but Jackle let out a shriek that made him jump back.

The girl acted as if this reaction was a causal ice breaker. "That's right, you two. You know what this is."

"Um, excuse me here, miss…" the Nightopian called out timidly in the girl's direction. "If—if I could just play the idiot and state the obvious right now…that there…that's a bomb, right?"

She only nodded, and her gray eyes seemed to reflect gloom.

Reala only laughed quietly. "Oh, what a clever child you are! Did you really think we were stupid enough to believe your little trick? That's not a bomb."

"Ye—yes it is…" Jackle spoke up softly.

"Believe him…would you care to hear the tune?" the girl asked, her wrist twitching.

"NO!!" Nights, Jackle, and the Nightopian all screamed at once.

Reala stopped short, sucked in breath slowly in reconsideration. "Even if it is real, she can't detonate it…not unless she plans to blow herself up with all of us." When he noticed her shift ever so slightly, he smiled at her, the fake sweetness dripping off like honey.

"You perfect dreamers—your kind—you can make the faintest image become the most lurid reality. But none of this is real, Lilith." Reala only smiled wider, let out a soft amused laugh. "So naïve, so darling…to see children playing pretend. You're a very special person here, you understand. You need to come with me."

Lilith tried to stand up taller. "I'll kill you first before you touch me," she told him.

Nights was at the girl's side now. The Nightopian followed swiftly after him, though the thought of being near an explosive made it shudder.

"If you want, I can hold that for you," the Nightopian timidly offered, knowing there would be no answer from the girl that Reala called Lilith.

When Reala looked at Nights, Nights could tell that he was trying to contain his displeasure, his angry surprise.

"Nights, Nights, Nights…you should know better than to take what isn't yours."

"You hypocrite," Nights answered back, clenching his fists.

"Wizeman was a deluded fool," Reala hissed at him. "I'm the only one thinking clearly. I don't harbor such compassion for these dreamers."

"Excuse me, here…" the Nightopian smiled sheepishly, shrugging both shoulders with its hands at the sides of its head, knowing its voice went unheard. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but did anyone notice that we still have a BOMB on our hands?!"

"Try anything heroic, Nights, and you'll end up like that boy. But it makes no difference what anyone does—'' Reala turned to the girl, and cracked the knuckles on his yellow hands. "Nothing is going to keep me from you, Lilith."

There was an internal twitch in the girl's expression, and an inner cringing that almost gave way to a visible shudder. Jackle observed this reaction, giggled nervously. Reala saw her open her mouth, as if to cry out.

"You see, my dear Lilith, that boy's life was a mere compensation. You're bought and paid for now." Even though he was a safe distance away, she could smell something on him, like carrion. She hesitated, her arms went downwards. Nights pulled her back, stepping in front of her protectively.

But the girl stepped back in front of Nights resolutely. She swallowed and met Reala's sickly bluish eyes. "Be as it may…it _is_ all a dream…like you said."

Nights could see a snarl slowly creep its way up Reala's teeth.

Lilith's eyes lit up. "It shouldn't matter to anyone if it goes off." The girl looked at the toy thoughtfully, and suddenly she raised it up fast, help it tightly to her, turned the handle. The first notes of the tune made Jackle growl and slink back.

Nights interjected quietly. The girl barely felt him place his hand on her shoulder.

"Does it really matter if it's the real thing anyway? It is only a dream, after all…guess I haven't outgrown playing pretend just yet." The girl smiled genuinely, showing her childish teeth.

The Nightopian lightly tugged on the girl's plaid skirt. "Ok, think we all get the message that she means business, then hey? Think it's time to ya know…vamoose…" He jerked his head over to the exit. All three took a slow sideways step.

"You heard it, Reala. Do you want another day to kill me or not?" She gave a swift turn of the wooden handle again, the tune advancing towards its final note. She stopped, gave an expectant look to Reala and Jackle, lifted an eyebrow.

"Damn you…" Reala cursed. His eyes had a strange stony green in them. He was seething, Nights could see.

Nights, the Nightopian, and the girl all slowly made their way backwards to the flapping tent exit. They quickened their step and were just near the exit when they noticed that Reala suddenly made a lunge at them. He did not get too close though, and some sweat did break out from him when he saw that the girl almost dropped the jack in the box. She regained her stance, muttering something that she did not remember.

"I felt—the redness—that dreamer was me—''

She wasn't coherent anymore. Her eyes stared off into something else. She began to shake uncontrollably, and Nights felt a surge of panic as he thought that she might drop the box. But she held the box good and tight, held it and gave the handle its final twist, held it up in her hand and launched it at the center of the circus tent. Nights heard a quiet growl come from her, something that was almost like an animal's snarl. Some of them shrieked, some of them cursed, Nights grabbed the girl's arm. He flew straight on and upwards, the Nightopian already clinging to his tassels, the girl surprisingly light. He burst through the flimsy material of the tent, heading towards another far away tent. Later on he could have sworn that he saw the jack in the box pop open and reveal its grinning skull of a head, specially designed by Jackle himself, and cackling like Jackle, cackling loud—

He could hear it even as he flew away at the speed he was going, a whirl around him.

Then there was a sensation of heat, a loud boom, a rush of wind from behind them as all three were blown forwards. Nights tried to land safely on the ground, but all three skidded into a pile. They hit the soft ground so hard that it felt like a brutal punch to them. He heard a soft laugh, almost secretive and choked, before he landed on the ground.

When Nights got up and dusted himself off, he saw the flames in the distance.

He heard a whistle from the Nightopian. "Sheesh, guess they got their big fireworks show after all…ya think anything got out of there…alive?" It looked expectantly at Nights, its face and clothes smeared with dirt.

"They got out all right…" the girl answered for him. She sat on the ground, leaning up against an abandoned game counter. She had a scrape on her cheek, the headband was removed from her disheveled hair, and her nylons had big holes that revealed the pale flesh of her legs, but otherwise she was alright. "If we did, then they did. That bomb was made to delay for a few—''

"That bomb!" the Nightopian interrupted, looking at her. "Where did you get it? How did you know—?"

She only looked at it, then gave a modest shrug. "I found it…that Jackle fellow left it lying around, thought it might come in handy is all." She shrugged again. "Don't think we have to worry about them for a while again…"

The Nightopian looked down at the ground, then sighed and got out a small leather bound book.

Nights looked up at the girl, who had her knees up against her chest. She had the same look that Nights saw just before she threw the bomb. A feeling of unease passed through him.

The girl made eye contact with him. "I know what you're thinking—I didn't plan this, I swear…it just…sorta happened, ya know?"

Nights only nodded, pretending to understand her. He looked over at the Nightopian, who read a leaf from the book.

"Been some strange things happening that need to be written down," it told Nights without looking up. It stopped then pointed to the page. "AH! Here it is! I'm sure you've heard about this…the rip by the Twin Seed Towers…has finally sealed up…"

The girl whirled her grayish purple eyes in their direction.

Nights nodded. "I know…I used to guard it…for about a hundred years. It sealed up not too long ago, I saw."

The Nightopian remembered something. "AH--! Almost forgot to introduce myself." It did a quick bow, tipped its golden halo. "Name's Dozer. I'm the present scroll keeper of Nightopia. I heard about some bizarre things happening at the point where the rip used to be…I only came here because I wanted to get a closer look, really…but I guess Nightmaren can sniff out us Nightopians like bloodhounds. That nasty ringleader got me before I could comprehend what was going on, told me that hunting Nightopians was his specialty." The Nightopian shuddered, jerked his head over to the girl's direction.

"They set this whole thing up…said they had a plan to bring back the Prince of Nightmaren…and give him the Perfect Dreamer. Of course I thought it was all preposterous, but then lo and behold, look who shows up…just like magic! Hate to put a damper on an already grim situation, but I think it's a dark day for the Dreamworld."

"I thought that the rip sealing would be cause for celebration," Nights said sadly, and the Nightopian shook its head.

"No…if that means that Reala returned, then no…and already after the next perfect dreamers…well, at least one of them." Dozer looked over at the girl, shook its head again in pity. "Things never change, huh? Better stay on your guard…he even knows your name…Lilith, was it?"

The girl shifted. "Yes…and you're Dozer right? And Nights."

A sudden thought hit Nights. "Say…why haven't you woken up yet?"

Lilith's eyes widened. "Beg your pardon?"

Nights rubbed the back of his head. "Well…this place, what happened here…is not real—at least for you, I mean. You are asleep right now, and you're safe. But when you dream, you will be in danger. Because you're what we call the Perfect Dreamer." Nights tapped his fingers, thinking. Dozer began to jot down what happened in the leather book.

"Being a Perfect Dreamer is something of a burden, if you want to know the truth," Nights continued. "People like you only come about every one hundred years, and you have what we call Red Ideyas—''

When Nights met the blank stare of the girl, he laughed nervously. Dozer glanced up from its writing, frowning.

"How much do you know of all this?" Nights asked Lilith. She looked down at her hands, then said, "Just that I've met some pretty strange creatures because of it…these Red Ideyas must really be important, huh?"

Nights bit his lip. "It really surprises me that Reala is picking up where Wizeman left off. He…he wants your Red Ideya. It is a gem inside you that represents your courage. Once they have it, they'll have the power to open a door into your world, crazy as it sounds, and—''

Nights thought he saw tears coming to her eyes.

"Reala…he's a monster," she said bitterly, placing her head in her shaking hands.

Nights sighed, put a hand to his forehead, thought that she might not be able to handle it if he said too much. "It's alright…You might not even remember what I told you when you wake up."

This time Lilith laughed. "I dream as long as the dream has to go on…" she looked away. "And I'll wake up…when the dream has ended."

"I'll be there keeping watch when you dream…you'll be seeing a lot of me from now on," Nights replied.

Lilith got up, dusted herself off, and then began to head further into the carnival. The environment of the carnival had changed, now that there was no one else left. The colors of the tents and even the rides were not as dull. There were no signs of the skin tents, the horse skeleton carousel, or the scary clowns. The carnival had gained back its last thread of innocence, now that it was deserted.

"Hey, where are you going?" Nights caught up to her.

"To wake up," she replied without turning around. "Don't follow me...I'll be ok."

Nights heard the reassurance in her voice, and thought that she might actually be smiling for the first time since he saw her. He let her go.

He watched her until she disappeared among the deserted tents.

Dozer tilted his head. "You…you think she'll be alright?"

Nights nodded. "For now anyway. I can't feel the presence of the crystal…she must have woken up…she looked so sad."

After closing the leather book, Dozer put a hand on Nights' shoulder. "Well, we might be wise to get going too. I know a place where we can rest…there's other Nightopians. I think Snuze and Napp might be there."

Nights brightened for the first time since Dozer met him.

To Be Continued…


End file.
